


In Memoriam

by syvamiete



Series: Midam Christmas Calendar [14]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Euthanasia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 16:14:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1083047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syvamiete/pseuds/syvamiete
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Forcing himself to stand up, Johnston walked the few meters to give his reluctant daughter to Adam, who took her and let her clutch to him like a lifeline.<br/>The other man looked like he was just about to break, so I saw it best to guide him and now openly crying Melissa outside. As I was closing the door behind us, I heard Adam softly speak to Maggie: “I heard your mother is in Heaven. It’s a beautiful place.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Memoriam

**Author's Note:**

> A new type of version of End!verse. Sorry this is a bit late. I had this all well planned in my head, but then at 11 p.m. my brains decided that 'hey, let's make it first person with a unnamed narrator'.

”There’s nothing we can do,” I said.

“No. There has to be a way. There has to be a cure for this,” Johnston shook his head stubbornly and hugged his daughter. They were all nice people. I had watched as the two daughters of the family had learned to drive a bike on the short straight part of their street. Johnston’s wife had been into charity and had organized countless charity sales for all kinds of reasons.

“There isn’t,” the young man next to me said. He couldn’t be more than in his early twenties, but still he seemed to be the most unfazed by all of this. He had silently accepted when we had wanted to put him into isolation for a few days to make sure he wasn’t infected. In the week he had now spent with us, he had proved himself a useful medic and more than a decent marksman. “The virus will take an effect in a few hours.”

“I don’t want to change,” Maggie whimpered in her father’s shirt. She was only 12.

“Shoo, honey, it will be OK.”

“It’s better to do it as soon as possible so that she doesn’t have to suffer,” I said lowly looking sorry.

Johnston blinked the tears from his eyes. Maggie’s sister, Melissa, hugs her. A knot tightens in my gut. This is not going to be easy.

“I can do it,” the young man, Adam, offered. Johnston and I changed looks. Neither of us would be able to do it.

Johnston had to swallow a few times to get his voice under control. “Honey, you get to be with Mr. Milligan for a while. I promise, everything is going to be okay. Just remember that I love you,” he kissed his her forehead. Melanie whispered something teary to her sister.

Forcing himself to stand up, Johnston walked the few meters to give his reluctant daughter to Adam, who took her and let her clutch to him like a lifeline.

The other man looked like he was just about to break, so I saw it best to guide him and now openly crying Melissa outside. As I was closing the door behind us, I heard Adam softly speak to Maggie: “I heard your mother is in Heaven. It’s a beautiful place.”

When we stand there outside the apartment building we had taken as our shelter, Johnston finally broke down. His loud sobs startled Melanie from her own tears and she went to wrap her arms around his father. I had to turn to look the empty gloomy street that run past us. After five minutes of silence, we heard a quiet shot from the inside.

As we gingerly returned inside, we found Melanie lying on the floor. Her expression was peaceful, like she was sleeping and her jacket was closet, probably to cover the bullet wound. Adam was brushing her hair behind her ear, but when we stepped in, he stood up.

He and I left the Johnstons to grieve their daughter and sister alone and went into what was once been a living room, but now had only a clunker of a couch. Adam started to take of his shirt that now had a big dark bloodstain in the front of it. As he turned around the take a cleaner one from our packages, I saw the tattoos. Among all the scars that adorned his back, dark steel blue wings spread from his shoulder blades all the way to his waist.

“I wouldn’t have guessed you for a guy with tattoos. Do you have a story behind them?” I asked.

Adam stilled for a while before continuing dig the bags. When he spoke, his voice was carefully even and void of emotions. “It’s for a memory of someone I lost,” he said simply.

I know better than to ask more.


End file.
